In January 2005, Avrumi was driving some friends to the airport when his van was smashed into by another vehicle.  He was in a coma for nearly a month.  When he regained consciousness, he learned that both of his legs had been completely amputated.  For the next two and a half years, he spent most of his time in hospitals in physical rehabilitation, returning home only for Shabbos or the holidays...

OUTLOOK

Courtesy of Mishpacha Magazine

     Meeting others whose range of choice has been severely circumscribed is another means of awakening us to the fact that choices always remain.  To that end, I found myself at Kikar Tzion, at the bottom of Jerusalem’s Ben Yehuda Street, until well after midnight on a recent Thursday night.  Our “host”, Avrumi Weiss, introduced a friend and me to the scene by urging us to put on a pair of tie dyed tzitizis over our white shirts.  Our traditional charedi garb of dark pants and button down white shirts would otherwise keep the young people from approaching his van, he explained.

     Weiss became a Thursday night regular on the street since last Motzaei Succos.  He drives in from Ramat Beit Shemesh and parks his large van in the square just before midnight.  As soon as he parks, kids surround the van.  They are eager for the slices of pizza, chocolate chip cookies, and cut vegetables he hands out in exchange for a brachah.

     Sadly, most of the kids seem to be familiar with the brachos, though one would not guess from their attire that they come from religious homes. (One telltale sign of kids from religious homes, Avrumi explains, is that they carry backpacks or handbags large enough for a change of clothes, to complete their metamorphosis en route).

     Over the last few months, Avrumi has also handed out two thousand colorful tzitzis.  Remembering Hashem, he explains, makes it possible to get better—in every sense of the word.  At least one recipient credits the tzitzis with saving his life.  He was standing at a bus stop with a friend, when he remembered that he had forgotten to don the tzitzis he had promised Avrumi he would wear.  He ran home to put them on.  When he returned, he found that the bus stop where he’d been standing had been destroyed by a bus that plowed into it, just moments before.

     Six years ago, Weiss tells me, he would have been too judgmental of the denizens of Ben Yehuda to engage them in any way, and would have seen their lifestyles as a direct rejection of their religious upbringing.  Then he was a successful businessman, running a large catering business in Ramat Beit Shemesh that serviced many of the local institutions.

     That business and the economic self-sufficiency it provided are but a distant memory.  In January 2005, Avrumi was driving some friends to the airport when his van was smashed into by another vehicle.  He was in a coma for nearly a month.  When he regained consciousness, he learned that both of his legs had been completely amputated.  For the next two and a half years, he spent most of his time in hospitals in physical rehabilitation, returning home only for Shabbos or the holidays.  Even today, he confides, without painkillers, the nerve pain would be like being constantly plugged into an electric socket.

     Avrumi Weiss could have spent the rest of his life wrapped in self-pity.  And in truth, he did not suddenly put on a happy face one day and put behind him what had happened.  Every time he wheels himself from one point to another, he is reminded of his loss.  But he did eventually find a way that he could still give to others, experiencing their own pain, despite his disability.  His Thursday nights and related activities closer to his home in Ramat Beit Shemesh provide him with the positive energy he needs to get through the week.